The Most Dangerous Game
by Lily of the Shadow
Summary: Yami Bakura, infamous Tomb Robber, is on a cruise. What is on this island that the sailors call Ship Trap Island, why do they speak of it with such fear? Bakura is not quite prepared for what he discovers. based on the short story The Most Dangerous Game
1. The Beginning

A little short to the tune of 'The Most Dangerous Game' by… someone. Dangerous Game is a short story that my class read in English, and I was so intrigued by the storyline that I figured this would turn into a good story. I may do several versions and post them all. This one I expect to be no longer than about 2-3 chapters. The beginning, the three days, and then the end a separate chapter if the three days drags on too long.

**Characters**: Malik Ishtar, Yami Bakura

Genre: Suspense, some Horror elements 

**Rating**: PG-13; death, blood

**Summary**: Yami Bakura, infamous Tomb Robber, is on a cruise. What is on this island that the sailors call Ship Trap Island, why do they speak of it with such fear? Bakura is not quite prepared for what he discovers.

**Warnings**: Death, naturally. What else do you get when you put Malik and Bakura together? Potentially disturbing content. Slight OOC possible.

Yami Bakura was a creature to fear. His ruthless tactics, merciless methods, and indifferent nature made his name feared all throughout Egypt and beyond.

But that was 5000 years ago, now, only those who knew him knew of his bloody past. And of those, only about 10 remained alive. Yami Bakura was a Spirit who had inherited a corporeal form in young Ryou Bakura, his almost identical descendant.

"They say we're nearing Ship-Trap Island." A young man who could be his twin said quietly as he shuffled up next to the Tomb Robber.

"I've heard." Bakura snapped back. "How can I not have, Ryou? The crew has been whispering ominously that we would pass by here ever since we left port."

"Oh." Ryou said, even quieter. The Tomb Robber's temper was not one to get on the wrong side of. "Would you happen to have caught why?" Ryou ventured to ask his counterpart.

"The name tells the whole story. Apparently few ships pass by here and survive to tell the tale."

"Really?" Ryou appeared interested. 

"Yes." Bakura's tone indicated that the topic was closed. Ryou took the hint, quietly walking away. Bakura remained unmoved, staring into the ink black sea. He noted that even though the day had been cloudless and tonight was supposed to be a full moon, the sky was a pitch-black velvet blanket that he could not tell apart from the sea, even with his abnormally sharp vision.

Bakura's attention was caught, however, but the high-pitched scream that resonated through the night just then. It obviously came from somewhere off the ship. Bakura managed to pinpoint the sound as to have come from about 40 degrees off the port side of the bow. focusing his eyes into the gloom beyond the ship's lights, Bakura soon realized  it was like trying to look into a Black Hole, it seemed impossible. 

After minutes of straining his eyes, he leaned over the railing, futilely trying to get a better view. Another, piercing scream rent the air before it was abruptly cut off. Caught off guard, the Tomb Robber lost his balance for possibly the first time since he was a mere child. He plunged overboard and into the choppy sea, unknown to any other inhabitants of the ship.

Underwater for nearly two minutes before managing to surface, Bakura didn't have time to catch his breath and cry for help before the ship was too far away to catch or be heard from.

'It will be a while before they realize that I'm gone." He thought angrily, treading water. Resigned, he began to swim towards where he heard that last scream, it had been close to ninety degrees off the port side of the bow the second time.

What felt like hours later, but was actually only about a quarter hour, the Tomb Robber felt sand beneath his feet. He stumbled up out of the water and up onto the beach. Normally, the short swim would not have been so exhausting, but somehow he felt entirely drained, and had barely managed to crawl out of the water's reach before collapsing on the sand and falling into a deep sleep.

*

Bakura was woken by warm rays of sun brushing across his pale skin. Quickly brushing aside his snow-white hair, he sat up, staring around. He was on a beach, on an island that appeared to be uninhabited. There was not a sound anywhere, no birds, and no people certainly. Bakura stood up, taking a better look around. He noted, with surprise, an enormous house that was built seemingly on the edge of a cliff overlooking the ocean.

Ignoring the sense of dread, the stranded former spirit began to make his way through the dense jungle towards the mansion.

Upon reaching the stone building, Bakura didn't hesitate to knock on the giant wooden doors.

Moments later the heavy door creaked open slowly to reveal a grand entrance hall. The marbled floors were polished to mirror-like perfection, the cream walls were decorated with ornate gold statues on small shelves. A tall, imposing, man, bald save for a single lock of ebony hair, stood in the doorway, his face half-hidden in a deep violet cloak.

Amber eyes shone out of the shadow the cloak cast, suspiciously roving over the Tomb Robber's face, and the dark grey metal of the barrel of the gun he held was level at his chest.

"I need to use your phone." Bakura said. The man stood his ground, not moving an inch. "Your phone! You have one, don't you? I need to use it." Bakura repeated. The man did not budge, but cocked the gun. "Let me use your Ra-forsaken telephone!" the Tomb Robber demanded.

"Now, now. There is really no call for rudeness. Rishid, let the man in." A young man looking his descendant's age appeared before Bakura. He was dressed rather aristocratically, an unusual look for a man with wild, light blonde hair that reached past his shoulders. The outfit was accented by a violet cape nearly matching the one that the other man wore.

 The blonde man had an apparently expensive array of gold jewelry, ranging from earrings, to a neck cuff, to what appeared to be arm guards covering his entire forearms, arm bands on his upper arms, and gold chains on his cloak.

He also carried what looked to the normal human a golden scepter, a long rod topped with a winged globe bearing the Eye of Horus.

"Malik." Bakura hissed, caught off guard by the appearance of the young man.

"Good afternoon, Bakura. Fancy seeing you here on my island?" Malik, for that was indeed is name, replied airily, as though he hadn't heard the venom lacing Bakura's voice.

"Fancy you owning an island." Bakura said, mocking Malik's tone. He then dropped the pleasant façade. "What in the name of Osiris are you doing here, Malik?"

"Come, now. Is that really the way to treat an old friend?" Malik grinned. Somehow, the expression wasn't the reassuring gesture he had intended. "Come in, Bakura. Make yourself at home. Rishid, go fetch us a drink. You must be thirsty, my dear friend. And entire night and almost a day without food."

Rishid nodded and left the hall by way of a left door. Malik led him through a door across from it, into a parlor decorated in warm browns, tans and golds.

"I'm beginning to recognize a decorating trend here." Bakura muttered to himself. Malik pretended not to notice. He seated himself comfortably on a tan chaise longue and gestured form Bakura to take a seat. 

He did so on a low cream couch as Rishid returned with a small tray holding two fluted glasses filled halfway with a red liquid. Bakura noted the way that the liquid seemed to want to hold onto the glass, and how the opaque crimson fluid seemed to be thicker than wine. 

Eyeing the glasses, Bakura smirked.

"You remembered, I'm touched." He said sarcastically. Malik only smiled the mysterious smile he had been wearing the entire time so far. Bakura took one of the offered glasses and sipped the dark drink, letting the slightly metallic taste of blood wash over his tongue. His smirk grew into a morbid smile of satisfaction.

"Body temperature still. How do you manage that?" Bakura asked needlessly. The look in his friend's eyes told all.

"Fresh victims." Malik replied, his voice that of a cold-blooded murderer. For a few minutes, the two reveled in their memories, reflecting on a time when they were essentially partners in crime, sharing the profits of their exploits.

"Well, Bakura. I suppose we should get down to business." Malik began. "Quite an unexpected surprise, your appearance. But I have decided to make the best of it. Bakura, tell me, what is my greatest ambition?"

Bakura looked at him in near disbelief. "You want to possess the three God cards and the Pharaoh's power." Bakura replied, as if reciting.

"And what continually thwarted me?" Malik pressed.

"Yugi and his imbecilic friends." Bakura said, his tone displaying clearly that he did not know where this was headed.

"And do you think that they would continue to discourage my plans had I pursued them?"

"I don't know. Wouldn't they have to break some time?" Bakura answered the question with one of his own.

"No, they possess the Pharaohs power. There was nothing I could do, fate was against me. So what do you think I did?"

Bakura shrugged, taking another sip of blood.

"I devised a game that would be fun, challenging enough to keep me interested, but still easy enough that I could win." Bakura was still lost.

"I'm a hunter now, Bakura. Haven't you heard the sailor's rumor of Ship-Trap island?" Bakura nodded tightly.

"Silly folk-tales, the lot of them." Bakura sneered over his glass.

"Or are they?" Malik asked.

"You." Bakura said simply. Malik nodded.

"Yes. I will often use the Rod to control ships navigators. They don't recover until it's too late to turn away from the shallow reef that surrounds the island. They crash, sink, and the crews are stranded." Malik began to explain. "Of course, they do just as you did, seek shelter and hope of rescue."

Bakura's mind mulled over this for only seconds before he understood.

"You hunt _people_?" He cried. Malik nodded calmly. Bakura stared at him with disbelief.

"You just murder them? I see no sport in that. Why?"

"Why not, Bakura? You, the King of Thieves! You've killed countless, why would you care if one more person dies?" Malik sat up from his reclining position. Bakura hesitated. Malik took the opportunity to continue. "I would be honored if you would participate in my little game, Yami Bakura."

"I will not simply kill without reason!" Bakura stood indigently.

"You haven't before?" Malik asked innocently.

"No! Guards, yes, they were after me. Police, yes, they were after me, thugs and gangsters, well, they were scum."

"But Bakura, none of that matters now. Now, It is just you an me." Malik said, the malicious smirk he wore now grew wider. Bakura's puzzled expression faded into one of shock.

"Malik! You can't be saying what I believe you are implying?" He cried in outrage. "The odds are against me, it would be no sport!"

"Nonsense. The Rod will be locked in a safe, as will your Ring." Bakura fingered the golden article he wore around his neck. He eyes Malik suspiciously.

"I don't trust you." He said simply.

"This is my game, Bakura." Malik said before falling silent. Bakura stared intensely at him.

"What are the rest of the terms?" Bakura said.

"Three days."

"I beg your pardon?" Bakura blinked.

"You'll have three days. If you can escape death for that time, then I will have a ship come and properly escort you off the island. If not, well…" Malik let the unspoken words hang in the air a moment. "You will be equipped with a knife set, and a canteen. And if you wish, a fresh set of clothes. 

"You may sleep here tonight, and take breakfast with Rishid and myself in the morning. Then I will give you a three hour head start. The island is five miles long and a mile wide in most places. I believe you'll find that sufficient?"

Bakura stared at him, once again, in disbelief.

"And if I refuse to participate in this _game_?" Bakura said, distaste coloring the last word. Malik smirked.

"Then I will force you to participate." He said, tapping the golden scepter he held, the Sennen Rod. Bakura glared.

"You do have a certain way of persuasion." He said. Then reluctantly: "If you insist upon my participation, I shall."

"Good man!" Malik said, standing up. He clapped a hand on his back. "I'm sure you will prove more than a worthy opponent, my old friend."

_With all hope._ Bakura thought, for the first time in his life, feeling nervous.

~#~

R+R if you wish.


	2. The End

The second installment is here, so without further ado:

The Most Dangerous Game 

**Characters**: Malik Ishtar, Yami Bakura

**Genre**: Suspense, some Horror elements 

**Rating**: PG-13; death, blood

**Summary**: Yami Bakura, infamous Tomb Robber, is on a cruise. What is on this island that the sailors call Ship Trap Island, why do they speak of it with such fear? Bakura is not quite prepared for what he discovers.

**Warnings**: Death, naturally. What else do you get when you put Malik and Bakura together? Potentially disturbing content. Slight OOC possible.

#

Yami Bakura lay on the soft bed, mind focused on one thought: _Malik is insane._

Naturally, he knew this before. It was only common knowledge during Battle City that the mind-controlling, power-hungry teenager was not quite right in the head, for it was home to both his father's Pharaoh-obsessed teachings and a Pharaoh-loathing darker half. During a duel in the Battle City finals, Rishid was knocked unconscious, and thus was not able to be there to restrain Yami Malik.

The darker half had consumed Malik, rendering him helpless to do anything about it. After Yami Malik had been banished to the Shadow Realm, it seemed as though Malik never completely returned to normal. If he could be called normal in the first place, with his taste for blood and death.

Which brought Bakura back to his original thought.

"I can't believe this." Bakura muttered as he rolled off the bed and stalked over to the window, hands jammed deep into the pockets of the tan cargo pants he had been given. He scowled out at the sunrise. "It figures that I'd get no sleep." He said to himself. He turned abruptly and walked as calmly as possible out the door and down to the main floor of the mansion. Rishid was waiting for him at the bottom of the stairs.

"Master Malik requests your presence in the dining room." He said before turning on his heel and walking into a room adjoined to the entrance hall.

Bakura was not surprised to see the gold-desert motif continued in this room as well. The tan walls had gold sponged over them, the furniture was all a rich, dark wood, and the table settings all apparently gold-plated. The golden tablecloth seemed to flow off of the edges of the table, and sitting at the head of the table, on a throne-like gilt chair, was Malik, decked out in full ceremonial costume, so to speak.

The violet robe flowed over his shoulders and the chair. He wore underneath it a black tank-top, not unlike the one he lent Bakura, which displayed his finely toned stomach, and a pair of beige cargo pants. The arm guards, bands, neck band, earrings and a golden band bearing the Sennen Eye that rested across his forehead were all shining in the early light that streamed through the wide bay window that overlooked the ocean. The Sennen Rod was clutched in one fist, which he leaned on, looking almost bored, and the other hand was drumming restlessly on the armrest. The moment the door opened, thought, he straightened.

"Good morning, Bakura. I trust you slept well?" His voice was almost mocking.

"Of course, Malik." Bakura returned, his pleasant tone mocked Malik's as he sat down in the chair on his right hand side. Rishid left and soon returned with two plates on a large tray. He set one before each of the 'game's' participants. Bakura glanced at the steak, potatoes and asparagus with a raised eyebrow.

"No, even I am not cannibalistic. But I believe that you could use a good, hearty breakfast in light of today's game." Malik said, his tone light as he delicately cut a piece of the medium-rare steak and placed it in his mouth, chewing slowly before swallowing. A lazy smirk spread across is face. "Eat up, my dear old friend. I would not want you hungry during our game."

Bakura looked at the steak before picking up the whole thing with his fork and ripping a piece off with his teeth. The juices dripped down his chin as he grinned. Malik cringed slightly. He was evil, malevolent, and slightly insane, not uncouth. Or so he liked to think himself.

"Something wrong, Malik?" Bakura asked in a tone that was anything but concerned. Malik restrained himself from rolling his eyes.

"Nothing, my friend. Please, help yourself." Malik said, slightly sarcastically. Bakura smirked. The meal continued in silence. Once Bakura had cleared his plate, taking an extra minute to further irritate Malik by literally licking the plate clean, Malik stood. He motioned to Rishid, who brought a tray into the room from just outside the door. Bakura remained seated, staring at the cart, which was cover by a (gold) cloth. Malik motioned for him to join him beside the cart. Bakura complied hesitantly. Once he was standing beside the blonde Egyptian, Rishid pulled the cloth off the cart with a flourish. Bakura's eyes widened at the array of bladed weapons, ranging from a broadsword (in a gold-studded leather sheath) to gold-hilted stilettos, to small(gold inlayed) throwing-knives.

"Take anything you like." Malik said, gesturing to the display of weaponry.

"_Any_thing?" Bakura repeated, glancing over the knives. Malik nodded.

Bakura smirked broadly, picking up a long, light saber in a gold-studded sheath, attaching it at his hip, two long stilettos (golden handled) which he tucked into his boots so that he could easily grab them, about a dozen (golden handled again) throwing knives, which he tucked into various pockets, and an Egyptian-themed dagger, the handle of which was Osiris, the hilt was a Scarab with long, feathered wings, and the sheath was covered in hieroglyphics. It was, of course, gold. Bakura tucked this one into his front pocket, where it would be easily accessed, but also not too easy to lose.

"Good choices. Now, come on." Bakura was led out the front door. Malik turned to him.

"Nothing against you, old friend. You made a wonderful ally, so this is nothing personal." Malik explained. Bakura fought the strong urge to roll his eyes.

"As did you. I believe this will prove an interesting game. A shame you will not be around to revel in my success." Bakura said cordially, shaking Malik's hand.

"We shall see." Malik's voice unconvinced. "Three hours, begins now." He said, turning and entering the house, closing the heavy door behind him. Bakura only stared at it for a moment before taking off, not down the path, but through the obscure branches and tiny clearings in the dense forest.

He backtracked several times, choosing different directions, running in circles, deeper and deeper into the forest. Once satisfied that he had left quite a confusing trail, he jumped straight up into a tree and began to swing about the branches, deeper still into the forest. He sat in a particularly tall tree, just far enough from the ground to not be seen, but still be able to see the path.

A loud gong sounded, and Bakura assumed that that sound was intended to signal that his three hours were up. He unsheathed one of the stilettos and held it in his hand, wary. Not too long later, he heard someone through the brush. It sounded like cursing, quietly loudly, and in Egyptian at that. Bakura watched as Malik stood in the clearing below him, staring around. His eyes fell on the trunk of the tree that Bakura sat in, and Bakura tensed, tightening his grip on the stiletto.

Malik's eye traveled up the trunk slowly, stopping a little below the exact spot where Bakura was hidden.

Bakura prepared to jump down, thrust the knife cleanly through him. Had he jumped he could have cleanly put a knife through Malik's heart before he could say 'ow', but Bakura stayed still. He had caught a metallic gleam in his had. A small, automatic pistol.

'Cheater.' Bakura thought venomously.

Malik smirked slightly. He turned and walked away, returning the way he came.

Then it dawned on him.

Malik knew he was there! That idiot knew he was there, and didn't say a word. Bakura knew he would have to try harder. If Malik wanted a challenge, a challenge he would get.

Bakura jumped down from the tree, replacing the stiletto, and took off again into the dense forest.

'This time,' Bakura thought, 'I'm not going to go easy.'

He quickly found a soft spot of soil, and taking hollowed out branch which he cut the top of the end off so that it formed a kin of crude shovel, began to dig. He dug as quickly as he could, until the pit was about four feet deep and stretched from end to end of the path. He then went into the brush surrounding him and selected at least a dozen and a half of long, straight sticks. It was difficult, because he had to feel his way around. Even his incredibly sharp night vision didn't help too much, the forest was pitch-black.

Fishing out one of the throwing knives from his packet, he began whittling one end of each stick into a sharp spike. He then buried the blunt ends in the pit, then covered it with a roughly woven mat of underbrush. He scattered dirt across it until he was satisfied that it blended in well enough with the path. He then hid in the brush far enough that he wouldn't be seen, but close enough that he could hear what happened.

Daylight soon peeked through the canopy, thin beams of sun brushing Bakura's skin, which was paler than normal from stress. He was ever alert, having gone much longer without sleep before, eyes watching the path, and ears straining to catch the slightest sound. Malik didn't disappoint him, for soon after it became light enough for Bakura to make out the path clear enough, Malik came striding up it, hand holding the leash of a large, menacing looking hound.

The dog's nose was close to the ground, and he was straining his leash to follow the scent. Bakura decided that he should retreat further into the woods, and did so as silently as possible by jumping from tree branch to tree branch. He stopped the moment he heard an unearthly, howling scream. He smirked to himself.

'Finally.' He thought. 'The Tomb Keeper is dead.' Only the tiniest pang of remorse tinged his thought. He was about to jump to the ground when he heard it.

"Brilliant tactic, Bakura! You've claimed by best hound with your tiger pit! I believe that I'll next test you against the entire pack. I'm going home for a rest now. Thank you for a most amusing evening."

Bakura stared at the sky, the twilight was just fading into the pitch black night. He threw himself on the ground in exhaustion. The adrenaline that had pumped through his veins for the past day was now ebbing, and he was left feeling extremely tired. Before he knew it, he was asleep, laying on the leaves and undergrowth.

He was woken the next morning by the sound of barking and howling. Malik had returned with the pack as promised. Bakura jumped up, energy flowing through him again. He decided he had two options, stay and wait, also know as suicide, or run, also known as postponing the inevitable. He stood for a moment, running through his head all the worse situations he'd been in, but none helped, all of those close calls had been with guards in palaces, or traps in tombs.

Traps in tombs! Bakura launched himself through the forest with renewed vigor, desperately seeking what he needed. He traveled down the path the he had. He climbed a tree that reached quite close to the canopy, looking around. He saw Malik, and next to him, Rishid, holding the leashes of several more hounds.

Thinking quickly, Bakura thought of all the traps he could remember from the tombs, searching for one which could apply. The second one came to mind he jumped down from the tree and set to work, stripping a sapling of all its branches with one of this stilettos. He then found a long, thin vine and lashed the knife near the top of the tree, which he bent nearly backwards. Quickly rigging a trip line and then covering his tracks roughly, he took off towards the edge of the forest. 

The sun pierced his eyes, nearly blinding him after the dismal light of the forest. He heard a distant scream. It was entirely bloodcurdling, horrifying, and disturbing. Bakura smirked, reveling in his success. The knife that had been rigged to spring down, once it had been triggered, had obviously killed his target. 

There was silence. Then the hounds began their ominous baying and barking again, coming ever closer. Bakura took one look at the blue-green waters and dashed out, diving into the warm Caribbean water.

Quickly, he silently thanked Ryou for opting for a Caribbean cruise vacation, and not one of those Alaskan cruises.

Malik and his pack of hounds emerged from the forest onto the golden sands. His eyes scanned the water. He shrugged slightly, sitting down. He pulled a flask from an inside pocket of his cloak, and then a small, clear glass. He poured himself a glassful of red liquid and sipped it, letting go of the hound's leashes. The took off back down the path. Malik sat down on the sand, sipping blood, smiling ever so slightly.

Malik had an exceedingly good dinner, marred only by the loss of his quarry and of Rishid. He was saddened, no doubt, by that loss, but not overly devastated. He kept a professional distance from all of his servants. Bakura's escape, however, was another matter. The poor chap didn't even retrieve his Ring. Shame, really. He'd be stuck apart from his Hikari for quite a while, that way.

Malik finished his dinner called another man in, a timid black sailor, strong but terrified for his life. Malik had promoted him from 'next prey' to 'servant'. The man was quite please that his life had been spared, of course, but that didn't stop him from being terrified. Malik ordered him to clean up while he went to bed.

With a yawn, he climbed the stairs, and entered his room. He went over to the window, not bothering to turn on the lights. He stood by the window, framed for a moment by moonlight, looking almost like the royalty he wished he was. The hounds had made their way back to the courtyard now, and Malik smiled down at them.

"Better luck next time." He said. He then turned to climb into bed but his way was blocked by a ghostly figure.

"Bakura!" cried the Egyptian. "How in Ra's name did you get here?"

"Swam," said Bakura, smirking. "It was quicker than walking through the jungle."

Malik drew a deep breath. "Congratulations. You have won this game."

Bakura's smirk grew even darker, if possible. "I am still a beat at bay." His voice was low and hoarse. "Get ready, my _dear_ friend. And I do use that term loosely."

"I see," Malik said. "Wonderful! One of us is to furnish a repast for the hounds. The other will sleep in this very excellent bed. On guard, Bakura…"

He had never slept in a better bed, Bakura decided.

#

TheEnd

###

And thus it ends. Yeah, sorry Malik fans, but I had to kill him! I didn't like it either, but the story just wouldn't work otherwise. By the way, I found a website where you can read the original "The Most Dangerous Game" by Richard Connell.

http:pages.pro krtq73aa/ danger.htm

Remove the spaces when you copy/paste the URL. I warn you, it's much better than mine, so if you would like to sustain the illusion that I am a magnificent writer, I suggest you not read it. Ha. I wish. Anyway… If you would like to suggest another two people for me to put in Zaroff and Rainsford's places, let me know. I may use your idea in my next version.


End file.
